


end.

by killingthemoon



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Implied/ Referenced violence, Lots of Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 04:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15356607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingthemoon/pseuds/killingthemoon
Summary: Cecil Palmer died.





	end.

Cecil Palmer died.

It wasn’t quiet or peaceful. It wasn’t a scene of quiet passing, the kind of death one could write soft poems about. It wasn’t reassuring or conclusive. There weren’t any thoughts of forget-me-nots growing over fading tombstones.

No, when Cecil Palmer died, he died in a manner entirely opposite to that.

~

The microphone was so very far away.

In actuality, it was resting right next to his elbow, but for all he knew, it was separated from him by entire universes. The weather was playing in the background, soft. A woman’s voice quiet and ethereal, a voice that made one think of girls in abandoned houses, never fully there, of flowers and vines twisting up stone walls. Castles on hills, inhabited solely by ghosts. Tricks of the half-light though perhaps not. Hauntingly beautiful. Not an altogether bad song to be his last. To die to.

Because he, Cecil Palmer, was going to die. Of this, he was absolutely certain. One couldn’t be very certain of too many things in a town like Night Vale. In fact, one of the only constant certainties was this inability to be sure of anything. But here, finally, was something he and the universe could both agree on.

There had been a man, he recalled, who had broken into the station right before he had pressed the weather. He couldn’t recall much of the man’s appearance but for faded yellow clothes and a black tie. A smile, words of reassurance. A knife.

Everything hurt. He could feel the human part of him struggling to stay alive. He could feel the not-human part of him trying to help the human part. He felt as it gave up and sat back quietly. He had less than five minutes, at most.

The weather finished off. He thought of reaching for the microphone but found he couldn’t move his hand. He closed his eyes, heard the slowing thump-thumping of his heart.

_Dear listeners, here is a list of things: emotions you don’t understand upon viewing a sunset, lost pets found, lost pets unfound, a secret lost pet city on the moon. Trees that see. Restaurants that hear. A void that thinks. A face half-seen just before falling asleep. Trembling hands reaching for desperately needed items. Sandwiches! Silence when there should be noise. Noise when there should be silence. Nothing when you want something. Something, when you thought there was nothing. Clear plastic binder sheets. Scented dryer sheets. Rain coming down in sheets. Night. Rest. Sleep. End._

He coughed, dully noting the blood spraying across his notes. Perhaps an intern could finish those off. The doorknob turned and caught. A muffled voice he recognized as being Intern Lucy’s saying  _‘The door’s locked!’_  with panic lacing through her words. He wanted to tell her it was okay and under different circumstances he would have. But at the moment, the very prospect of saying anything loud enough for her to hear seemed impossible.

He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain. He grabbed the microphone and inched it closer.

“Listeners—” he broke off, cleared his throat.

“Listeners,” he tried again, “Over the course of the weather, quite a few things happened.” He laughed darkly to himself.

“I can at least say that the man who broke into the station is gone now. All is not well, but then again, has it ever been? Nothing, dear listeners, is ever well. Not completely, that is. There is only the thought that perhaps most things are, on the smallest of scales, the smallest of moments. This is the nature of everything. It’s the way it has always been; chaos and disorder, masked and repressed by small acts of wellness; a quiz passed with flying colors, a soccer match won. The success found with finally being able to cook perfect pancakes, working up the courage to ask out a crush.”

He had pulled on his Voice. 

“This is how things have always been and always are and will always continue to be. A single constant amidst so many variables.”

He broke off again, wincing. But he had to—  _had to_ — finish this show.

“But you must remember that there is always something, someone, somewhere. Always. You, dear listener, live in this awful, violent world. There is no telling what will happen exactly, ever. Everything is changeable, everything you take for granted and even those things you do not. But here you are, dear listener, listening to me. You have survived another day, and that is more than many can say. Take pride in these small victories.”

Another deep breath.

“It’s settling in to be a wonderfully calm night. A beautiful night, and I hope you make the most of it, whatever that most may be for you.”

“Good night, Night Vale. Goodnight.”

He used every last reserve of his strength to flip the switch to turn the show off. Someone was still trying to open the door. Loud bangs and screeches were coming from outside. He closed his eyes.

He was going to die here, probably within the next minute. And he was almost glad. A lifetime so long he couldn’t even remember where it had started, coming to a close. 

He felt a slight tinge of regret— wishing he could have perhaps hugged Janice, thanked the interns for their wonderful work. Spoken with Dana, laid some more flowers over Old Woman Josie’s grave. Kissed Carlos one last time.

He closed his eyes.

And Cecil Palmer died.

~

“Cecil? Cecil I uh— you haven’t come home yet, I’m starting to get a little worried. You’re okay, right? You haven’t answered any of my calls and that’s unlike you— hang on, someone else is calling— Intern Lucy? Wait, I’ll answer this—”

_End of message._

~

“Cecil! Oh my Gods, Cecil, please answer— shit, Intern Lucy— she told me— Intern Lucy told me—”

A muffled sob.

“Cecil, please answer. Please.”

_End of message._

~

“Cecil,  _please_.”

_End of message._

**Author's Note:**

> sorry
> 
> (originally posted on my Tumblr, maybe-ghost)


End file.
